


A Story Told in Kisses

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Character Death, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enemies, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Kissing, M/M, Mild Gore, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, Villain Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the story begins earlier, when Stevie was trapped in the burning warehouse, or even earlier than that, when the God of Chaos had pulled the cowl off her head and seen her face for the very first time, but the first kiss comes later, and this is a story told in kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss: Payment

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I maybe accidentally started writing this AU where Steve is female and also Captain America. And somehow, this got sidetracked from the original story, which is about Tony and Steve being BFFs and having an epic bromance, while Tony is happily faithful to Pepper and gets his own happily ever after.
> 
> Maybe I'll write that one, eventually, but this is just a story about Stevie and Loki and kissing.

The first kiss is payment.

Perhaps the story begins earlier, when Stevie was trapped in the burning warehouse, or even earlier than that, when the God of Chaos had pulled the cowl off her head and seen her face for the very first time, but the first kiss comes later, and this is a story told in kisses.

The first kiss, then.

Payment.

\--

She doesn’t think twice about going undercover, knows that Natasha’s face has been splashed all over the news and to be fair, 95% of the people who know Captain America’s other identity are people she trusts with her life.

If she had known Loki would be there --

Well. She might have volunteered anyway, but when she sees him across the room Stevie’s heart pounds in her chest, terror crawling up her throat and threatening to choke her. If they discover her, she knows exactly what will happen -- knows what happens to soldiers to fall behind enemy lines, knows what happens to women when they’re captured by the enemy.

She’s a soldier. She’s not afraid to die.

Stevie tries to maintain her cover, smiles and flirts with the disgusting, sweaty men that paw at her and chuckle into her cleavage, tries to avoid the dark-haired demigod on the other side of the room. But it’s Loki, so she turns around and barely avoids running into him.

He’s dressed like all the other men, in a dark tuxedo with his hair slicked back, but Loki’s smile is bitter and mean and it shows far too much teeth. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and Stevie’s heart drops. Loki places her hand on his elbow, guides her away from the small knot of people she’d been talking to. She can’t remember what they had been talking about, anyway, so it’s probably for the best.

Dear God. Oh. sweet Lord, have mercy. Stevie has never been this scared in her _life_ , and there’s no telling what Loki will do.

“You shouldn’t be here, Captain,” Loki whispers in her ear. It sounds like a threat. Stevie’s pretty sure it’s meant to.

“Don’t blow my cover,” she whispers, pleading into his ear. “Loki...”

And he turns to her, crowds in too close, invading her space and Stevie finds herself backed up against a wall, Loki’s arms braced on either side of her, trapping her. “You should know better than to make a request from the God of Chaos,” he murmurs into her ear. Her hands are flat on his shoulders, not quite pushing him away, just braced to do so. Stevie can hear her heart pounding, blood rushing through her ears.

“Please,” she says, and Loki’s smile deepens.

“What will you give me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m sure my associates would love to know who they have in their midst -- what are you going to offer me for my silence?”

Stevie doesn’t know what to say. She can’t help the flush that spreads over her, the way her face goes pink with -- embarrassment, and humiliation, and a little bit of anger. What could she offer him? Loki wouldn’t want money, doesn’t want any information, doesn’t want messages from Thor or any of a thousand things she could think to offer him. Her back is to the wall literally and figuratively, he knows as well as she that she has nothing he wants.

“Ah,” Loki trails a fingertip from her shoulder to her elbow, leaning in a little closer as if he’s won something. “Well then. Give us a kiss, Captain.”

“What?”

“A kiss,” he repeats. “For my silence. A reasonable price, by anyone’s standards.”

She shivers. Loki’s expression is unreadable, inscrutable. What does he want? A kiss -- that doesn’t make sense, not when he could demand anything and know she’d have to give in or be caught by HYDRA. Swallowing hard, Stevie nods, once, because he’s right, a kiss is... it’s reasonable, if that’s what he wants, if that’s _all_ that he wants. That much she can give him.

“Okay,” she breathes, closing her eyes. “Okay -- a kiss.”

Loki’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

And -- it would be easier if he took control, if he was the one to lean in and close the distance between them, but no. No, Loki never makes anything easy, so Stevie braces herself, leans forward and rises to her toes, presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. She slides one hand around to the back of his neck, pulls him in a little closer.

Loki lets her lead, doesn’t push for more, so Stevie lets her eyes flutter shut, lets out a shaky breath against his lips and then kisses him, properly, his mouth opening over hers as she slides her tongue across the seam of his lips, tasting. He tastes a little like fresh-fallen snow, like crushed mint leaves and sugar, like the burn of vodka; Stevie licks into his mouth, drags him closer until his body is pressed up against hers, radiating heat like a furnace for all that his demeanor is cool as ice.

Loki’s not shy, he kisses her back, unbearably gentle. He nips at her lips, teeth sharp but his lips gently soothing, and jesus, Stevie has been kissed before but it was never like this.

She breaks away, struggling for breath, and Loki smirks at her.

“You won’t tell them?” It wouldn’t surprise her if he’s lying, though. Loki lies, that’s what he does. Stevie asks him anyway, because even a slim chance of hope is better than no hope at all.

“Don’t insult my honour, Captain,” Loki replies. “I said my silence for a kiss, so you’ll have it. For one day only. I hope your business here is concluded by then.” He turns abruptly, leaving her alone. Stevie lets her hands drop, wrapping them around herself.

Suddenly, she feels cold.

\--


	2. Second Kiss: Stolen

In the middle of a battle, then, when Stevie throws her shield and it flies in a perfect arc, cutting off one of the monster’s limbs and sending it crashing to the ground. The shield ricochets, pinging off of a brick building and sailing back towards her, silent but for the sound of crumbling brick it leaves behind.

Loki catches it, suddenly standing next to her and Stevie starts, can’t help the way her body jumps without command, ready to defend herself.

She’d have been prepared for any of a thousand attacks, but instead Loki loops his free arm around her waist, hand pressing in the small of her back, and Stevie opens her mouth to ask _Hey, what’s the big idea?_ but Loki just delves in, mouth pressed against hers, tongue in her mouth and --

and she should push him away

should slap him

punch him

fight him

but--

instead she _doesn’t_. She makes a noise, soft, against his mouth and feels his lips curve into a smile, and when she raises her hand it’s probably to push him away, but it’s far more likely she intends to pull him closer.

But her hand falls on nothing but empty air, and her shield falls to the ground, clattering.

Their second kiss. Stolen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um yeah. Narrative might be spotty in places because I'm too lazy to have this beta'd and also because I said so.


	3. Third Kiss: A Bargain

He appears suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, melting away from the shadows. Perhaps he’d been there all along, invisible. Stevie doesn’t jump this time, because he’d done her the courtesy of appearing in the corner of her field of vision, so she tilts her head and sees him stepping out into the light.

“Captain,” he says, and his face is ghost-white, not normal. “I require your assistance.”

Some internal perversity makes her reply as cruelly as she can. “What will you give me,” she asks, “If I help you?”

She’s never turned down a plea for help, never said no to someone in need, never demanded payment for what she would do regardless. Maybe Loki knows that, because she sees him smile, a flash of sharp white teeth and the sudden curl of his lips.

“Ah, Captain,” he says. “I have come to collect my debt.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Stevie says, but she’s lying. She knows he could have-- done so much worse, that first time, could have handed her over to be tortured or killed or worse. He’d kept her secret and left her to her mission, and perhaps he’d asked for a kiss but that wasn’t -- it wasn’t payment, not really. Not enough.

“You bargained with me for a kiss,” Loki says, smiling. He’s still unnaturally pale, standing still in front of her, not moving around as he usually is. “Once upon a time. Now I ask you to do me the same favour.”

“You asked for a kiss for a favour,” Stevie reminds him. “That’s a done deal-- I got my favour and you got your kiss. We’re even.”

“Not really,” Loki takes a step closer. “If you recall, Captain, I gave your kiss back to you.”

She blushes.

“So you had your favour, and your kiss back as well.” Loki raises an eyebrow. “We are not even. I require assistance, you will provide it. A favour for a kiss. Our agreement still stands.”

“I don’t want a kiss from you,” Stevie lies.

“A bargain, then.” Loki tilts his head, still smiling. It’s not comforting, but then again, it’s not meant to be. “And a token. I shall name my favour, and you can name your token.”

“Tell me what you need.” It’s not giving in, not quite, but it’s close enough. Stevie doesn’t know what Loki means when he offers her a token, doesn’t know what to ask for.

His smile widens.

“There is a facility I need you to destroy.” He says.

She listens to him talk, giving her all the information she needs -- and these are bad guys, these are human traffickers who are funding terrorists with their ill-gotten gains, she’s completely in favour of destroying them, but why does Loki want that as well? And more importantly, why can’t he do it himself?

Afterwards, he looks at her, evenly, and says, “Name your price, Captain.”

Stevie considers it, thinks long and hard but she can’t make a decision. “I’ll let you know.” She says. “If my superiors agree -- and I’m telling them exactly where I got this information from -- then you can give me my token. But if not...”

Loki smiles at her, sharp and wide. “If not,” he murmurs softly, his voice dropping low. “I suspect you shall go alone.”

Stevie hates the idea of young women, children, being stolen from their homes, being sold into slavery and prostitution, their lives destroyed, hope crushed. She hates it more than she hates the idea of that money going to the bad guys -- Loki is right. 

But there’s nothing she wants that he can give her.

“I want--” she says, and then she pauses.

Loki is still looking at her, his face unreadable for all that his lips are still curved into an approximation of a smile.

“My compass,” she says, because it had been the last gift she’d ever received. It’s the last thing Bucky had ever given to her, the last thing she’d held in her hand to remember him by. Bucky’s present, that old battered tin compass, and Peggy’s newspaper picture inside, probably worn away by time and seawater, but she wants it in her hand.

Loki nods once, then he closes the distance between them, stalking forward like a predator. “And how shall we seal this bargain, then, Captain?” he asks silkily. “A handshake? A solemn oath from one warrior to another?”

He pauses in front of her, smile gone from his lips. “No,” Loki decides coolly. “Not a handshake.”

He kisses her.

Stevie wishes she could say she’s surprised.


	4. Fourth Kiss: Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter took a long time to write.

Her first date in the twenty-first century doesn’t go very well.

It could have gone worse, actually. Stevie remembers all-too-well being skinny and plain and frumpy, the kind of girl that men didn’t even notice was in the room. She’d had more men pay attention to her here and now than she had back when-- well, back when she’d belonged. Now, they look at her. Really, really _look_ at her, and some of them are sweet and nice but don’t ask her out, and others she really doesn’t know too well.

Well, she doesn’t turn down the offer of dinner from Agent Preston, who asks her politely and smiles wide when she says yes.

Perhaps she goes a bit overboard, but she doesn’t know what women wear on dates these days, and besides, she’d never been able to afford silk stockings before, not when she’d been desperate to buy food or medicine or war bonds. So Stevie dolls herself up real nice, and maybe the neckline of her dress is a little lower than she’d like, but the saleswoman at the store had assured her that it was still very modest. 

They meet for dinner, at a nice little restaurant, smallish, and Preston pulls out her chair for her and compliments her dress, and Stevie is sure that everything’s going to go just fine.

Of course, it doesn’t.

The waitress seats another couple at a table across the aisle, and Preston frowns, makes a disgusted noise. The woman is young, pretty, and Stevie can see how it might look inappropriate -- apparently it’s not common for a young lady to go out with older men these days. But from where Stevie is sitting, she can see the wedding band on the woman’s left hand, an unusual looking silvery band in a celtic knot design, and it matches the man’s ring perfectly, so there’s nothing untoward going on.

“She’s older than she looks,” Stevie murmurs, quietly so they won’t be overheard. “And I’m pretty sure they’re married.”

Preston’s expression of disgust doesn’t go away. He shakes his head and says it’s a shame to see a nice white woman with one of _them_ , and Stevie is struck with sudden, white-hot rage that leaves her speechless for a long moment.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s wrong,” Preston is saying, a small furrow between his eyebrows as he looks at her. “I’m just saying-- they should keep to themselves. I don’t want to have to see that sort of thing out in public.”

Stevie is starting to hate the way people see her now, as if being born seventy years earlier than other women her age means she’s got to be somewhat less than them, like she's backwards in all the ways she never was. Stevie gone to college, had been treated like a social pariah for associating with coloured folks, had been kissed by Peggy Carter (and kissed her back, for all she was worth). She might have belonged in the forties, but she was far more suited to her life now than she had been before.

“I think perhaps we’re not very well suited,” Stevie says politely. Agent Preston looks surprised, but that quickly turns to shock when Stevie stands up, places twenty dollars on the table, and walks out of the restaurant.

She turns right, sharply, and makes her way down the sidewalk, ignoring the looks she’s getting. Stevie knows she’s being rude, but she can’t stand to hear people talk like that, not when she’s been making a stand for the past seventy years, not when everyone says that sort of thing doesn’t happen any more.

Steve cuts through a series of alleyways on the way to her apartment building. It’s against all the rules for young ladies that she was raised with, but she can’t really be bothered to care because the rules are bollocks and besides, she’s Captain America. Even in this century there isn’t much she could encounter in a dark alley that she can’t handle, on her own and out of her suit, without her shield.

Even if she is wearing heels.

Stevie turns the corner and walks straight into Loki.

Loki, god of Chaos and mindfuckery, who is in full battle regalia and talking in a strange, sibilant language to an otherworldly creature he likely dug out of some previously-unexplored abyss. The creature is... well, it looks leathery or scaly, but a wet sort of scaly, like it lived in a lake somewhere. Even in a Brooklyn alleyway, where there really isn’t all that much moisture after the warm heat of the day, it looks damp and somewhat slimy.

Loki turns to look at her, and he, at least, seems surprised.

The wet scaly creature hisses at her, like a cat.

Stevie stares at the wet... what is it? A bog monster? It looks like a large, slime-covered cat, if cats were regularly the size of elephants. Its whiskers might be some form of antennae. She turns to look at Loki, who is still staring in surprise at her.

“If you are going to attack the city,” Stevie says, and she barely recognizes her own voice, as it comes out sounding far too sarcastic for her own liking, she has definitely been spending too much time with Tony. “I would appreciate if you gave me time to change. This is a new dress.”

Loki inclines his head, taking in her appearance. “It is quite fetching attire,” he replies. “Although not as form-fitting as your usual battle gear.”

“That is because this isn’t battle gear,” Stevie says. She holds up her rhinestone-encrusted clutch bag and points at her matching shoes. “This is evening wear, and will not hold up to a fight nearly as well.”

Loki looks intrigued by this. “What an inconvenience,” he says, although he seems to be contemplating just how much battle it would take to destroy her dress, which Stevie does not appreciate.

“Are you going to destroy New York in the next forty minutes?” She demands.

Pursing his lips, Loki takes his time thinking about it. Finally, he shrugs, and makes a shooing gesture at the slime-cat-creature. “I could be persuaded not to,” he answers.

Stevie stares at him.

“Of course, if I have nothing else to do, I’ll be forced to summon Sashassi and his companions and perhaps go sight-seeing?” Loki offers. “I have heard of a monument to Liberty whose beauty is told the world over.”

This is extortion, Stevie decides. Loki is extorting her, and she is absolutely not surprised. “Fine,” she says. “You may walk me home, although if you at any point attempt to summon a cat-creature and destroy any part of my neighbourhood, I am going to choke you into unconsciousness and give your body to Thor.”

Loki’s eyebrows both go up at that, but he bows from the waist, his armor shifting and reshaping itself into a formal dinner suit. His pocket square matches the sapphire blue of her dress exactly.

Stevie scowls at him, but Loki is a perfect gentleman for all that he’s a liar and a villain and a murderer as well as a sorcerer. He offers his arm, walks in step with her, and makes polite small talk as Stevie makes her way home.

Perhaps she should be more wary of showing a villain her home, but, well. Loki could do worse than to attack this part of Brooklyn. At least then, the city construction crews might have a chance to finish reconstructing Harlem or Wall Street, which had been hit pretty hard by the villains this past year.

“This is me,” Stevie says, stopping in front of her apartment building. “You are not invited upstairs.”

Loki feigns disappointment. “What if I attack the city?” He asks. “Perhaps I might never have done so if you had only been nicer.”

“There’s being nice, and then there’s letting strange men into your apartment on the off chance it might stop them from doing something naughty,” Stevie says primly, removing her hand from the crook of his elbow. “Now, you can run along and try have some non-villainous fun, or you can try to force your way inside and I’ll shoot you.”

Loki almost looks like he’s pouting. “I could go inside if I wanted to,” he says.

“Yes,” Stevie arches an eyebrow at him. “And I could shoot you, but I haven’t. Yet.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Captain.” Loki gives her a fond, almost admiring look. “I almost never know what you’re going to do or say next, did you know that?”

“Goodbye,” Stevie says pointedly.

Loki catches one of her hands in his, hands surprisingly gentle. “Yes, I shall take my leave of you, Captain. Farewell.” He kisses her fingers, bowing low over her hand as he does. It’s breathtakingly suave of him, as much as it’s hilariously old fashioned and stupidly out of character for him.

“Goodbye, Loki.” Stevie repeats, pulling her hand gently from his grasp.

He straightens up, tugs the cuffs of his suit to straighten the sleeves, and then disappears right in front of her.

Sighing, Stevie turns around and digs her keys from her purse, fitting them to the lock and pulling open the main door. “Asgardians,” she mutters to herself, rolling her eyes. Honestly, until she’d met Thor, she thought there couldn’t ever be anyone more flamboyantly theatrical than Tony Stark. Boy, had she been wrong.

Stevie steps into the building and walks right into Loki.

“I forgot,” Loki says, smiling at her.

“What?”

“This,” he swoops in and brushes a soft, tantalizing kiss over her lips. Barely there before he’s gone again, and Stevie actually doesn’t know she’s doing it before she reaches out and grabs him by the lapels.

Loki kisses her again, solidly, hungrily, like he’s been waiting for this and only this-- Stevie sighs into his mouth, tugging him closer until he wraps his arms around her waist.

When he pulls away, her lips feel swollen.

“Goodbye, Captain,” Loki says, and then disappears.

Goddamned _Asgardians._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what Agent Preston is so adamantly against in the first scene is an interracial relationship. This is, obviously, his own fictional opinion, and is also a very incorrect, bigoted, and narrowminded opinion for a fictional person to have.
> 
> I was originally going to write this scene as more vague, less racist but more overtly trans*- or homo- phobic, but then I thought that really isn't fair. I mean, racism isn't fair either, but as a PoC I feel more comfortable having a fictional character I'm writing be racist than anything else, because it's easier for me to gauge what is hurtful to a PoC than it is for me to gauge what might be hurtful to someone else.
> 
> So I would like to say, Agent Preston's opinion is vastly different from that of the Author, who personally does not have any problems with interracial marriages/relationships, is in fact the product of an interracial relationship, knows several people who were part of and/or the product of interracial relationships, and who has also been part of at least one interracial relationship. Racism is bad. Agent Preston is a jerk. And Stevie, who is Captain America, does not like bullies (or jerks).


	5. Fifth Kiss: Impulse

After her _third_ date this century that’s gone horribly, horribly wrong-- Stevie’s not unused to men being forward with her, but for some reason, men these days have only learned the pretense of respect, without actually learning any respect. Back in her day, she’d give a man the brush-off and he’d smile, tip his hat, and go give his attentions somewhere they were wanted. Nowadays, though, the men just don’t take no for an answer-- even when Stevie is very, very adamant in her refusal.

This particular date actually goes real well, right up until he walks her to her door... and tries to invite himself inside.

Or, well, he tries to invite himself in, and when she refuses he tries to convince her, and when that doesn’t work he kisses her and it’s-- awful. Stevie tries to pull away, but he follows after her, grabbing her waist hard, hard enough it would bruise any other woman.

It’s awful because he’s too rough, too forceful, his hands press on her back too hard, stifling instead of comforting, and he licks at her, repulsive and wet and even after Stevie’s pushed him off he keeps coming after her, trying to paw at her bodice and...

Stevie lays him out with a sharp left hook, and far more gently than he deserves. He’ll have a sore jaw and a broken nose to show for his trouble, but she doesn’t much care. She’s never before needed to do more than slap a fellow for getting fresh with her.

Then Stevie sits him up on the porch outside her apartment building and calls him a cab, because she’s not cruel even when she has a right to be.

“Freaky bitch,” he mutters as she gives him more tissues to stifle the blood from his nose. “Shoulda known you’d be a prude. What, are you a lesbo?”

“Perhaps the lady is merely accustomed to better men than you.” A voice comes from the shadows, icy and sharp. Both Stevie and her date turn to watch as the shadows in the corner solidify into the God of Mischief, dressed impeccably in a formal suit, his walking stick imperiously held in one hand.

Stevie barely starts, but the guy sitting on her flails in surprise, stumbling off the stoop and landing hard on his side.

Loki looks as if the man is something he just scraped off of the bottom of his boot. His lip is curled in distaste, and he looks up, at Stevie, with a cold-eyed expression. “I thought you had better taste,” he comments idly, placing the tip of his walking stick on the man’s shoulder.

Jason, Stevie thinks. The man’s name is Jason, and she’d best remember it, because if Loki kills him...

If Loki kills him, what?

She closes her eyes, lets out a tremulous breath. “I usually do,” she replies.

Opening her eyes, she sees that Loki has left Jason where he is, unmolested, unharmed, instead stepping around the other man’s prone form. “Interesting,” Loki narrows his eyes.

“Most men,” she continues, quietly. “Don’t show their true colours until they have reason to.” She raises her eyes, meets Loki’s gaze.

He smiles at her, an insincere and thin-lipped smile. “I suppose you are right.”

She nods at Jason. “You should probably go,” she says, even though his taxi hasn’t arrived. For all that the man is a -- a cad and a brute and an unforgivable _jackass_ , she doesn’t want him dead. Not at Loki’s hand. Not as an innocent bystander in a squabble between Captain America and the God of Mischief and Chaos.

“Yes,” Loki agrees, not looking away from Stevie. “The lady has found more preferable company than yours, tonight.”

Jason scrams.

Loki invites himself into her apartment, and Stevie doesn’t argue because she can’t actually stop him, anyway. She closes the door firmly behind her, flicks on the lights, and shrugs off her coat to hang up in the closet while Loki looks his fill around the room.

It’s a tiny place, just enough space for one person, and Stevie feels oddly self-conscious for someone with an unwanted guest. She shouldn’t be, but she might be a teeny bit nervous. Which makes no sense, because Loki isn’t her-- he’s not anything, he’s a villain with stalkerish tendencies and a habit of sexually assaulting her in an extremely unwanted and fantastically enjoyable manner. He’s not her boyfriend. This is absolutely not like letting a fellow come inside for a cup of coffee after an evening out, where he might expect to take... liberties.

Loki wouldn’t try.

If he did, Stevie has a gun in her purse, her shield tucked behind the bookshelf, a Tony-Stark-built taser under her pillow, a baseball bat in the front closet, an iron poker by the fireplace, and a bottle of modified bear spray that had sent the Hulk running when it went off accidentally during a training exercise. In addition to the knives and heavy pans in the kitchen, and any improvised weapons she can come up with.

Loki knows better than to try take liberties with her.

“Are you harmed?” Loki asks, suddenly standing behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach.

Turning, Stevie sees that Loki is still looking at her, scrutinizing. But he’s not looking at her the way Jason had, eying her hips and breasts and occasionally straying to her eyes or face or legs. Instead, Loki seems to be inspecting her arms, her legs, everywhere on her body. Even more surprisingly, he looks at her with a gaze that’s more concerned than overtly sexual. As if he’s checking her for injuries.

It’s a little shocking, considering he’s been taking the opportunity to bother her whenever he pleases.

“I’m fine,” Stevie says. Her knuckles aren’t even sore.

“If he hurt you,” Loki says quietly, grimly.

And there’s a tiny frisson of excitement that dances over her spine at that. If he hurt her-- what? Stevie wonders. What would Loki do? Dance on her grave? Snarl? Make sarcastic and rude commentary? Would Loki try and help? Would he _care?_

“You try to hurt me all the time,” She snaps, and Loki flinches back as if she’d hit him.

“I apologise,” Loki says stiffly.

_What?_

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” Loki continues, not meeting her eyes.

Stevie stares at him.

“I merely. Wanted to ascertain that... that lout hadn’t done you any injury.” Loki finishes, looking slightly over her shoulder as if afraid to meet her eyes. “I am aware that you can care for yourself, and you are more than capable of protecting yourself from undue harm, but I still found myself--” he stops abruptly.

“You can’t do that,” Stevie says softly. “You can’t just-- decide when to care, Loki. If you don’t want me harmed, you can’t attack me -- or my city. That’s not how it works.”

Loki doesn’t say anything.

Sighing, Stevie opens the front door to let him out. “Goodbye, Loki,” she says firmly.

“Farewell, Captain,” he says, striding forward. He pauses in the doorway, looking at her with an inscrutable expression, his eyes brilliantly green in the dim evening light. There is a scar over the corner of his lip, faint white line that Stevie can see exaggerated by the shadow the light casts over it.

“Good night,” Stevie sighs, and then before she can second-guess herself she leans forward, up onto her toes, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth where she can see the scar.

Loki’s eyes widen, in shock or surprise. Stevie doesn’t let that deter her, she kisses him again, properly this time, like she had the very first time he’d asked her for a kiss.

She has no idea what she’s doing.

But Loki’s lips are so soft, and he sighs ever-so-softly against her lips, his breath a warm puff of air. Stevie raises her hands, touches his neck, the tense corded line of his throat as he leans in to her, deepens the kiss, makes it something wetter and slicker and impossibly soft. He tastes just like she remembers, like snow and fire and the pleasant haze of alcohol.

His hands settle on her waist, bruisingly gentle; he’s always so very tender at moments like this that Stevie can hardly bear it. She can feel the heat of his hands through the thin material of her dress, the way his thumb strokes back and forth over the fabric.

It feels as if the kiss lasts forever.

When they break apart, Stevie is breathing hard, trying desperately to stop herself from flushing. It’s a lost cause, she’s always been quick to blush, and now is no different, with Loki’s hands still spread wide over her waist and his lips half an inch from hers.

Loki’s eyes are dark, hooded, his expression unreadable. Stevie can’t let herself forget that he’s dangerous. This isn’t a man who walks ladies home and flirts harmlessly with them, this is a man who has killed dozens of people, who hurts her friends, who is toying with her for some unknown reason.

“O Captain, my Captain,” he says cryptically, before he pulls away from her.

“I--” Stevie doesn’t really know what to say. She isn’t going to get involved with Loki, she’s not that stupid. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says, in lieu of anything relevant.

“No, you really shouldn’t have,” he agrees, his tone biting.

Stevie turns away.

Loki leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Stevie's second OC-date-monster is named Jason (No Last Name) and he says some totally hurtful things, insinuating that Stevie is a) a lesbian and that b) that's not okay, and he does so in a tactless manner. His totally fictional jackass opinion is fictional, does not in any way reflect my opinion. 
> 
> In Ch. 4 Stevie's inner narrative is proud of having kissed Peggy Carter, who is totally as female and as kickass in this universe as she was in the movie. She may not understand Jason's slang, but if she did, she'd probably have kicked his ass (again) for being rude to women like Peggy.


	6. Sixth Kiss: Jealousy

Stevie finds a note in her SHIELD locker telling her to meet Loki at a cafe downtown at noon. It's signed with a flourish, and his penmanship is impeccable.

The smart thing to do in this situation would be to report it to Fury -- or Hill, who was nominally in charge while Fury was away in Europe -- and leave it at that. The most practical thing would be force Stevie to ignore the note and go about her day. The most interesting thing to do would be to forward the message to Tony and wait for the explosions to start.

Instead, Stevie does the stupidest possible thing, and meets him and the cafe.

“You look lovely today,” Loki says, smiling at her. He’s wearing-- something that’s probably the Asgardian equivalent of casual wear. Not leather or armor, but distinctly otherwordly. He’s dressed almost all in black, with hints of gold around his throat.

Steph is wearing yoga pants and a baggy blue sweater. She nods at him, but doesn’t bother responding to his comment. Silvertongue, they call him. “What do you want, Loki?”

“I am here to conclude our bargain,” Loki says. He holds out his hand, expectantly.

Stevie stares at him.

“Give me your hand, Captain,” Loki says.

She does, because she’s always leapt first, because she’s always wanted to know what would happen. Her fingers tingle for a moment, and then Loki releases her fingers, and Stevie looks down to see that she’s holding a metal compass, heavy and familiar.

She stares down at it.

It looks exactly the same.

Exactly the same as it had when she’d tucked it into her uniform belt seventy years earlier, before her life had disappeared, washed away in ice and lost time. Her compass -- Bucky’s compass.

Silently, she pries open the case. It’s only through sheer effort of will that she manages, because her fingers are shaking and she can’t really see properly. Inside, she knows, the works should be rusted or rotted away, Peggy’s picture faded with ocean water and decades, but--

Oh, but she mustn’t forget it was Loki who gave it to her this time.

Inside, Peggy’s picture is as pristine as it had been when she clipped it out of the newspaper. The tight curls, her soft knowing smile. The picture goes blurry, wavering under the suddenness of her tears, and Stevie blinks furiously to dispel them. “Where did you get this?” she croaks.

“Is it not what you wanted?” Loki’s eyebrows are drawn together, his lips pursed into a frown. “You told me you wanted your compass returned to you. I could not find another compass, so I brought you this one, but--”

“Where did you get it?” Stevie asks. A tear escapes her eye, sliding down her cheek before she has a chance to wipe it away. “You -- this was destroyed. Long time ago, it was destroyed or washed away.”

“It was a unique challenge,” Loki admits, looking away from her. “To search the ocean floor for an artefact so small, lost so long ago. It took me longer than I had expected. To restore it to it’s former glory was the work of a moment.”

Stevie snaps the case closed, tucking the compass into her purse. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

“You are welcome.” Loki waves a hand, signalling a waitress to approach with a pot of coffee and two mugs. “Join me.”

“I shouldn’t,” Stevie protests, but it’s her lunch break, and she’s hungry, and if she gets up and leaves she’s going to end up sitting on the curb with her compass in her hands as she cries.

Loki ignores her, pouring sugar into one mug and pushing it towards her. He puts cream in his own coffee, no sugar. Just another way she and he are opposites, Stevie thinks.

“Did you love her?” Loki asks, sipping his coffee.

“Yes,” Stevie says. “I loved them both.”

His response to that is a raised eyebrow.

“Bucky gave me the compass,” Stevie says. “I loved him first.”

They chat over coffee and sandwiches, and then Stevie’s lunch hour is almost up and she needs to go. “Thank you again,” She says, and Loki gives her a bland, disinterested smile of dismissal.

“It’s clear that your trinket means more to you than anything else,” he says, his voice just as bland as his expression. “I suppose I should be honoured to have been the one to return it to you.”

What does that even mean, Stevie wonders, but she doesn’t ask him. She knows better than to play word games with the god of lies, and if Loki’s suddenly being his usual, villainous self, she’s better off leaving.

But Loki follows her out of the cafe, catching her gently by the elbow as she turns to walk back towards the SHIELD facility. “Tell me, Captain,” he says, his voice coming out dangerously silky. “Now that you have your token, is our business concluded?”

Oh. _Oh,_ he’s not talking about business at all, Stevie realizes. Loki’s asking her -- what, exactly, is he asking her?

Before she can demand an explanation, Loki yanks her closer. Stevie’s hands fly up automatically to brace herself as she crashes into his chest -- and he kisses her, hard, brutally so.

His lips are hot against her, forcing her mouth open and leaning in to take everything from her, hot and wet and heavy. His arm around her waist keeps her trapped, holds her to him, and--

Loki’s a good kisser.

Loki’s always a good kisser, because he kisses her, not some nameless shape of a woman. He’s always been a good kisser because his kisses made Stevie tremble, made her breathless, made her warm and shivery and excited, and this is _not like that at all._ His grip on her is too hard, on the verge of painful, and this is an odd time to realize that even in the midst of battle, Loki's only ever been gentle when he kisses her. He's only ever been reverent, worshipful, cautious when he's put his hands on her, holding her as if she were something precious.

Stevie slaps him, hard, across the face with her right hand, and when he reels back in shock she slaps him with the left as well.

“You wretched little--” Loki’s face contorts with rage, his own hand swinging back, winding up to strike.

Stevie doesn’t have her shield on her but she doesn’t need it, not when she carries a bowie knife strapped to her boot and a taser in her purse. She doesn’t need a throwing disc against Loki, although it’s magic-proof effect would come in handy. She braces herself for the blow, waiting for Loki to finally, finally reveal what he’s playing at.

He snarls at her, wordless, and then his hand drops back to his side.

Stevie stares, because--

He hadn’t hit her.

Why hadn’t he hit her?

“How dare you?” Loki hisses, and Stevie can’t miss the cold, black-eyed expression on his face. “You pathetic, snivelling mortal, how dare you touch me?”

“You were asking for it,” Stevie points out, crossing her arms in front of her.

Loki glares at her, taking a step back, putting even more space between the two of them. “I’ve no--”

“You don’t get to be jealous,” Stevie interrupts him, speaking in a low voice. “I don’t care who you are or what you’ve been through. You don’t get to be jealous over me. Yes, I loved them. Yes, I loved them first -- but they’re dead, Loki. Everyone I’ve ever loved, everyone I’ve ever cared for, is dead and gone. You have no right to distort their memories, to treat them as competition. Bucky was my best friend for a lifetime. Peggy was the only woman I’ve ever loved. And you, Loki?”

She pauses, looking at him, at his cold eyes and furious expression.

“You are _nothing_ to me,” Stevie says coldly.

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows it’s a mistake. As soon as she’s said it, she knows it’s a lie. But none of that matters, because Loki reels backwards as if she’d slapped him again, and suddenly all the anger and emotion drain away from him.

He looks pale, and sad, and then he takes another step backwards, and another, and before Stevie can call out to him, he’s gone.


	7. Seventh Kiss: Goodbye

Stevie dreams about falling.

In her dream she’s trying to hold on to Bucky. He catches her hand -- or maybe she catches his, but it doesn’t matter. She holds on to him, because he’s Bucky, and instead of falling alone she falls with him.

Bucky fades away and Stevie is alone, alone and falling, screaming, _dying--_

Loki catches her.

In her dream, Loki catches her and he’s cold as ice, his lips turning blue, and he whispers something in her ear that the wind tears away before the words reach her. Loki’s skin is pale as snow and his smile is bitter and cold and he’s the one, falling, but Stevie can’t move and can’t reach out and when she tries to catch him he slips from her fingers and is gone.

When she wakes up, gasping, it takes only a heartbeat to realize she’s not alone-- she has her shield in her hand without needing to think about it, and she draws the bed sheets around her as if that might afford her some extra protection.

It’s Loki.

Loki is in her bedroom.

Of course he’s in her bedroom, when she is in her night clothes and not expecting him, not expecting anyone.

Loki’s eyes glitter in the dim light.

She hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him in nearly three weeks.

“What do you want?” Stevie asks, trying her best to sound like Captain America, and not like a startled young woman who’s just found a man in her bedroom. She can be both at the same time, but Captain America is in charge of every situation, while Stevie really just wants to yell at Loki for waking her up, tell him to come back at a decent hour.

She doesn’t question her own idiotic desire for him to come back.

Loki takes a step forward, a little hesitantly, and Stevie realizes that he’s hurt. There’s a long, bloody gash on one arm, reaching almost to his shoulder, and the side of his face is bruised, dark blue and bloody. His armor is scuffed, dirty, dented in places, and all in all he looks as if he’s been put through a wringer a few times.

“I wanted to see you,” he says flatly, coming closer. His gait is unsteady, as if he’s exhausted or injured.

Stevie watches him warily, but he pauses at the edge of the bed, making no move towards her. He’s not unsteady on his feet, not that she can see, and he doesn’t seem to be too badly hurt-- but he is hurt, and she’s not very good at repressing her natural urge to help.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and her voice comes out strangely softly.

Loki looks at her for a long, tense moment. Finally, he breaks the silence to say, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Stevie says. “Good.”

Loki ducks his head, shadows hiding his expression. “I should not have come here,” he says grimly.

Well, that’s definitely the truth. Stevie shrugs, puts the shield down flat on the mattress beside her, and draws her knees up to her chest. “You never do what you’re supposed to do,” she points out.

Loki smiles, at that, a small curve of his lips that looks far more pleasant than most of his toothy grins ever have. “You are right,” he agrees, sounding surprised.

“I usually am,” Stevie replies archly, a little more arrogant than she actually feels. It startles a chuckle from Loki, though, and then he looks more relaxed, less like he’s about to jump out of his skin. She wants to look at his arm, to check if his shoulder is dislocated. He wouldn’t welcome the attention, she thinks, wouldn’t want her to notice his weaknesses. She doesn’t say anything more.

“I apologise for disturbing your sleep,” Loki says, looking at her shield where it lay next to her. “I -- I was not thinking properly. I shall leave you in peace.”

“Thanks,” Stevie says wryly, before slipping out of the bed, standing up in her nightgown and peering at Loki’s face. “Before you go-- why did you come here?”

Loki doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward, closing the last few inches between them, brushing a soft, chaste kiss over her lips. It’s over in a heartbeat, by far the tamest kiss he’s ever bestowed upon her -- not nearly as intense as it could be.

It hurts, though, because Stevie knows this kind of kiss, she’s had this before. This is a kiss goodbye -- this is a final, desperate act. Loki expects to die, she realizes.

“I wanted to see you,” Loki admits, lips brushing her cheek when he speaks. “One last time.”

“Loki,” Stevie begins, but the god whirls around, disappearing into nothing between one step and the next. She’s left staring at empty air, unsure what she would have said even if Loki had stayed.

It takes a long time before she can fall back asleep.


	8. Eighth Kiss: Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, Warning: This chapter contains some gore/graphic descriptions of injury, blood, CPR/temporary character death, makes reference to canon character death, and also depicts a mild panic attack. If this is triggery for you, please be warned. 
> 
> Warning the Second: this "kiss" is not a kiss at all.

It's not that Stevie has stopped dating altogether; she just doesn't have time to date, okay? And given how most of her dates seem to end with her kissing someone who wasn't her date to begin with, Stevie doesn't much see the point. Not that she expects Loki to appear just because she's agreed to go out to dinner with someone else.

But she wouldn't be at all surprised if he did.

Except that Stevie doesn't go out to dinner, not with Jasper when he asks, or with Mr. Simon from the accounting department at SHIELD. Not with Officer Kirkpatrick either even though he was nice enough to help her clean up the post-giant-cockroach mess downtown the week before.

Stevie says no, keeps her head down,and tries to remind herself that no, she is not disappointed when she turns a corner and there is no one there. She's not sad when she ducks through an alleyway at night and there are no Asgardian magicians looming in the shadows, and she is certainly not upset when she wakes from a nightmare and she is alone in her bedroom. Stevie didn't expect anything different and she's not going to say anything to anyone.

Until she sees Thor moping more than usual, Barton and Stark both giving him carefully neutral expressions when they speak to him. The two usually exuberant men have taken to exchanging frantic messages via silent eyebrow communication when Thor is in the room, and Stevie remembers that Loki is actually a big part of all their lives.

And, she suspects, he may be dead.

\--

“He's going to be fine," she says to Thor. "He's always managed to survive whatever life throws at him."

"I am not worried about Loki," Thor lies, scowling down at his own clasped hands.

Stevie hesitates. "I-- he--," and really, there’s no good way for her to say what she needs to say. "I'm worried," she confesses, quietly.

Thor turns to face her. His expression is... defiant. "I have no need of your pity," he says, more harshly than Stevie really deserves. But how would Thor know that?

Stevie blinks, looking away from her teammate. "He... We stayed in contact," she says. "He gave me my compass." There's more, of course, but its all private and Stevie wants to keep that to herself. The press of Loki's lips against hers is none of Thor's business, and nothing Loki would want her to share. Nothing that Stevie wants to share.

Thor narrows his eyes, considering, but he stays silent.

"He-- two weeks ago." Stevie continues, her voice steady. "He came to see me. He was hurt."

"Hurt?" Thor asks, brow furrowing. "How so? Did he say what had done him the injury?"

"He was saying goodbye." Stevie says, and she can't help the way her voice trembles. "Thor, whatever he was doing, whatever he's up against... He thinks he's going to die."

Thor's face twists at that, a pained expression that Stevie never wants to see again. "My brother..." He chokes out, trailing away into silence.

"Your brother is wrong," Stevie tells him. "He is not going to die, not for a very long time. He'll find a way to come back to us," she promises Thor.

Its wishful thinking, of course.

Loki has no reason to come back.

\--

Stevie agrees to go out for coffee with Maria, only because she's sick and tired of waiting. It's not really a date, but she secretly hopes it will count enough for Loki to come out of his hiding.

Three sips in, her alert goes off. "What now?" Stevie snaps into her communIcator while Hill takes a call on her cell.

Fury is on the other end. "It's HYDRA," he says. "We need you to assemble the Avengers."

Hill gives her an apologetic look. "Work," she says. "They need me."

"Duty calls," Stevie agrees.

They give their coffees to a homeless woman outside the shop before heading in separate directions.

\--

Steve doesn’t know what she expected, but this isn’t it. The room -- whatever it had been, before, whether dungeon or prison cell or command center -- has been completely destroyed.

Loki is sitting against the far wall, hunched over with one hand curled protectively around his chest. His weight is held up by the half-crumbled wall on his other side. He’s covered in blood, clothing and armor both drenched with it.

Schmidt is lying dead at his feet.

Stevie stares, because she hadn't even known that the man had been alive-- las she’d seen him, Schmidt had been screaming in agony, his flesh dissolving in front of her eyes as the power of the cube overwhelmed him.

To be fair, he doesn’t look much better now. The man is in pieces, literally, his head severed and lying several inches away from his body. What remains of his body. His torso is a wet smear of gore.

“Loki,” she says.

He moves slowly, turning his head until he sees her. “Ah,” Loki says softly. His voice is thin, weak. “I was not expecting to see you.”

That much is clear.

“Surely not,” Loki sneers, as if Steve had spoken. “No. This is a mistake.”

“I... Loki?” Stevie says again, hesitant. “Are you---”

“Why would you come for me?” Loki demands, suddenly angry. He’s practically gasping for breath, wheezing when he speaks, weaker with every moment. “I never asked you to come.”

There is something... off, about the way he’s talking. Something in the words he’s using, but Stevie isn’t sure what it is.

“A cruel jest, this.” Loki mutters, bitterly, huffing out a short, painful-sounding laugh before his eyes flutter shut.

Cautiously, Stevie approaches him, as if he is a wild animal on the verge of bolting. (And could he leave, even if he wanted to? His wounds look terrible. Surely he would heal himself if he had the power?) “You’re hurt,” she says. “Let me help.”

_“Randgríðr,”_ Loki mumbles, and then, “Makes no sense.”

He’s not talking to her, Stevie realizes. Loki is seeing someone else when he looks at her, having a conversation with someone who isn’t there.

For a moment, she feels like an eavesdropper listening in on a conversation she has no right to; but Loki needs help and Stevie is the only one here. She pushes her unease to the back of her mind, focuses on the task at hand.

He doesn’t move away when she touches him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Let me see,” Stevie says, trying to move his fingers away from where he has them pressed against his ribs. Blood seeps through his fingers, bright red and wet.

“You...” Loki says, sounding pained. He’s struggling for every breath, now, in a way that makes Stevie’s chest hurt in sympathy. It reminds her of the asthma attacks she had as a child. When he opens his mouth, she can see his teeth are red, with his own blood. “This is... a coward’s death,” he whispers.

“You aren’t going to die,” Stevie says, stubbornly, even though Loki’s words weren’t meant for her at all. “You’re going to be okay.”

If even Loki thinks he’s going to die, he’s probably right. Stevie can’t do much to help him.

She doesn’t know what sort of weapon can do this amount of damage, doesn’t know why Loki is here, or what kind of threat would have sent a magician of his caliber fleeing for his life in the first place. She doesn’t know what Schmidt was doing here, with Loki, or how the Red Skull had survived the cube and the past seventy-five years.

Stevie has no reason to believe that Loki will survive this, except for her own rock-solid belief that Loki always survives. Three things are certainties: Death, Taxes, and Loki’s survival.

“So cruel,” Loki mutters, opening his eyes. He smirks, then, a blood-stained parody of a real smile. “Your valkyrie should not bare her face,” he says, looking up at her. He laughs, a half-hysterical noise that sounds more like pain than anything else.

Finally, Stevie manages to pry his fingers away from his wound, and it’s much, much worse than she had expected. Air bubbles up, frothing at the ragged edges of his shredded skin... he has several broken ribs, a punctured lung at the very least. Stevie swears, furious, and pushes her own hands over the worst of it, trying to stem the bleeding.

“It’s okay,” Loki says. He’s looking directly at her, and the words are soft, almost comforting. “It’s okay, _Siobhán_.” He exhales one last time.

She waits for him to continue, to tell her what part of this is okay -- waits for Loki to inhale again, to breathe in.

He doesn’t do either.

“No. No,” she says. “No-- dammit, Dammit! Breathe! Breathe, you-- stupid--idiotic-- bloodthirsty sonofabitch.” He cannot do this, not to her. Who the hell does he think he is?

Stevie drags him down, drags him backwards, shoves him flat so that she can put her hands over his heart. He _cannot do this._ He’s not allowed to die.

His lips are cool against hers, unmoving.

_Breathe, dammit,_ Stevie thinks. Bracing her hands against his chest, she pushes down, ignoring the sharp crack of breaking bone-- probably his sternum, hopefully not a rib. Not that it would make a difference. “One and two and three--” Out loud, she’s counting, but inside she is screaming, wailing, terrified. _This is not how it’s supposed to happen,_ she thinks. “Twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two--” The battle is over, sounds of fighting faded away, only the faint roaring of the Hulk as he destroys what’s left of HYDRA’s facility. The broken rubble where she’s crouched isn’t nearly as tempting a demolition site as the near-intact tower to the east. “Thirty.”

Two fingers under the chin, tilt head back to clear the airway. Pinch the nose, breathe. Breathe again. Resume chest compressions. “One and two and three and four--”

Stevie isn’t sure how long she can do this, but she knows she can’t stop. Not when Loki isn’t breathing. Not when she can taste his blood from where she’d given him his last breath, and the one before that. Not when she hasn’t even told him-- not when she hasn’t had a chance to say---

God. Oh god.

His lips are blue-tinged, cool, but his blood is warm on her hands and she can’t find the wounds, doesn’t know how to stop the blood or make him breathe or--

“Cap, Cap!”

\-- and she’s not going to listen to Clint, not now, because she knows now that she lied, she lied to Loki when she said he was nothing and she needs to tell him, needs him to breathe, she’ll tell the whole world, even Nick Fury, if he’ll just breathe--

Because he can’t be dead, not when she’s already lost everyone. Bucky and Peggy and Howard and Dum-Dum and Jaques and Gabe and Izzy and Junior and--

Hands close in on her shoulders, dragging her away and Stevie fights back, shoves against the unrelenting force, metal that’s warm against her hands and _goddammit, goddammit, this cannot be happening!_

“Stevie! Hey, hey, come on, breathe, sweetheart. Take a deep breath--” Tony’s voice breaks through her panic, the helmet on his suit discarded on the ground. He’s sweating, hair damp, and his metal-clad hands on her shoulders dig in just enough to feel like they might bruise.

Stevie snarls at him, but he’s right, she’s not breathing, and by the time she calms herself enough to suck in a deep breath, and then another, she’s light-headed and nauseated and terrified. “What,” she says, and her voice sounds parched, dry, as if she’s just walked a hundred miles in the desert.

“It’s fine,” Tony says, the damned liar. “It’s fine. Natasha took over. We’ll keep giving him CPR until our med team arrives. Sit down, there you go...” He guides her into a crouch, her head between her knees, and keeps one hand spread out over her shoulder blades. She’s not hyperventilating, she’s not, it’s just that there isn’t enough air and it hurts when she breathes.

It isn’t until the med team arrives, when Tony drags her to her feet, that she realizes that she’s been crying.

Stevie avoids looking at her team, desperately ashamed. She hates weakness, hates seeing it in herself, hates even more when other people see her vulnerable. And this was that times a thousand, a thousand times worse, this was all her weaknesses stripped bare and shoved into their faces.

She’s afraid to see the looks of pity, the looks of disgust. She doesn’t want to see them look at her like that.

The med team has Loki intubated, a bag hooked up to his mouth to breathe for him, and they’ve stopped doing chest compressions -- that means his heart is beating, that he has a pulse. Stevie watches, numb, while they load him up onto the helicopter ahead of the Avengers, the medical staff looking competent and sure of their every movement.

“It’s okay,” Tony says. He’s still got his hand on her back.

It’s not okay, Stevie thinks.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki doesn't die.


	9. Kiss Nine: Thank You

_Three Weeks Later:_

\--

Breaking Loki out of prison is strangely easy. It helps that she’s got clearance and nobody distrusts her-- it probably never occurred to SHIELD that Stevie was a security risk. Not the way Banner or Stark would be, not the way Barton and Romanov are. 

The only problem with her plan is Loki himself.

“What are you doing?”

Stevie takes the lock pick from between her teeth, ignoring Loki in favour of concentrating. It takes her another ten seconds, but the lock gives way and she pulls the cuffs off of his wrists, twisting them apart with barely any effort.

“What are you doing?” Loki demands, leaning in closer, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

Stevie looks up at him, from where she’s kneeling and picking apart the lock on his ankle cuffs. “I thought that would be obvious.”

“Perhaps to you,” Loki retorts. “However, from where I stand, it looks as if you are betraying your own people to free one of your enemies.”

“Yup,” Stevie says, the lock opening under her fingers. She makes short work of the cuffs, twisting the metal out of shape and leaving them mangled and misshapen on the floor. “Thats exactly what I’m doing.” She stands up and looks him in the eyes.

Loki clenches his hands into firsts. His expression is dark and angry. “No,” he hisses at her. “Stop this, stop this at once.”

Stevie laughs. She holds up her hands, the black gloves gleaming on her fingers. Nobody looks twice at a nice young lady buying a pair of formal gloves to go with a dress. She hadn’t even left a paper trail that could be traced back to her, Bucky would have been proud. “Too late,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve already overridden the alarms and looped the security video. We’ve got another fifteen minutes before they catch on, if we’re lucky. Ten minutes is a conservative guess, though. If you want to get out, you’re gonna come with me.”

“You will regret this,” Loki snarls at her threateningly. 

She laughs again. “No, Loki,” she tells him. “I won’t. Come on, there’s a twenty second window in the guard rotation that I don’t want to miss, so let’s move.” 

“You cannot do this,” Loki says, quieter now. “Please... Siobhan. They’ll discover your involvement.” 

And that, that right there, is why Stevie is making the most reckless-- most boneheaded, harebrained decision of her life right now. Because somehow, deep down, Loki is still in possession of some tiny, infinitesimally small flicker of compassion. 

“Yes,” Stevie agrees. “They will.” 

“They’ll punish you,” Loki says, stepping closer. He meets her eyes dead on, and Stevie realizes that he really doesn’t intend to go. 

“Loki,” she says with a sigh. “I-- you...” 

“They will punish you,” he says. “They will... I do not know what they will do to you, Captain, but this thing shall not come to pass. Leave. Hide the evidence of your betrayal. If there is no escape, they will have no need to look for proof of wrongdoing---” 

He’s going to stay. He’s going to _stay_. What a ninny. 

“Loki,” Stevie sighs. 

Just that, because she’d never imagined it for a moment, but now-- right now it’s clear as day. The first time he’d seen her face, surprise and delight warring for control of his usually inscrutable demeanor. The warehouse fire, when he’d saved her and she’d saved him. Their first kiss -- and this whole time, Stevie had thought he’d been playing mind games, had been toying with her. 

“This whole time,” she murmurs. 

“Leave me now, Captain,” Loki says, trying to turn away. 

She grabs him by the shoulder, throws herself up against his chest and wrapping her free arm around his neck. Loki tenses when she hugs him, clearly expecting some sort of an attack instead. Pulling back far enough to see his face, the stubborn and proud jut of his chin, Stevie presses a kiss against his cheek. She’s not imagining it. He’s not toying with her. This isn’t a trick, this isn’t her being played by a man whose mind is a steel trap--- 

She’s smiling, beaming at him. 

“Captain,” Loki pleads. 

The spark of compassion and mercy left in Loki, the part of him that can still care about other people-- that’s hers. All hers. Stevie feels warm all over, happiness curling through her to her toes. 

"I'm not going to leave you here," Stevie says. "Because if I do---" 

If she does, he'll be tortured. They'll tear him apart, cut into him just to see him bleed. Stevie had no illusions about who she was working for, she knew exactly what the world security council was capable of. 

"If you do this," Loki says. His voice breaks. 

"They'll court martial me," Stevie says softly. "Probably throw me in jail or try to charge me with treason. They'll think I'm brainwashed or insane. At the very least, I'll be forced into retirement, my shield taken away, and never seen or heard from again." 

Being Captain America isn't going to save her now. Not when she's been hiding her personal identity, not when she's giving them a reason to replace her with a man, one who'll be better than her at following orders. 

"Then why would you risk it?" 

"Because," Stevie says, smiling at him. "Because you didn't have to save me, in the warehouse. Because you didn't laugh when you realized I was a woman. Because you treated me the same after you found out." 

"I'm a monster," Loki says. "I'm a murderer a hundred, a hundred thousand times over. Why would you risk your life for a--" 

"Because you kept my secret when I asked you to," Stevie says. "Because you asked me for help when you needed it. Because you didn't want me to ruin my new dress. You haven't attacked New York in months, not since I pointed out how hypocritical it was for you to worry about my safety when you're always endangering it." 

Loki smiles, a little bitterly. "Am I so transparent?" 

"You're jealous, and possessive, and when you didn't know if you'd make it you came to see me," Stevie tells him. "You were so close to convincing me that you didn't care, but you messed up. You listened to me. I told you to get lost and you listened to me, you big galoot." 

"You haven't answered my question." Loki whispers. 

"I'm doing this because if you stay, they'll tear out every last ounce of compassion you have left." Stevie swallows hard, staring him in the eyes. "They'll turn you into something you're not. They’ll make you hate with everything you have-- they'll destroy you, Loki. They’ll give you no choice but to turn into the monster you already think you are. And... I'm going to save you." 

This time, when she tugs him towards the door, he comes with her. 

"Why am I worth saving?" Loki asks her as they reach the door. 

Rolling her eyes, Stevie stops in the doorway, looking over her shoulder. "Because you've spent the past _ten months_ looking for excuses to kiss me." She answers. 

He smiles at her, pulls her the half-step back to him that she needs to be close enough to kiss. 

Loki has kissed her before but this is different. This isn't chaste or gentle or passive, this isn't a trick. This is hungry, desperate, like he's trying to breathe her in, like he wants her more than anything. Stevie is gasping by the end, clutching at his hair, his shoulders, wishing she had time to do more. 

"Thank you, Siobhan," he says against her lips. "Thank you, but--" 

His hand is on her neck, grip tight against her skin and he digs his fingers in, hard, and Stevie feels a faint flash of pain-- 

And then nothing. 

\-- 

When she wakes up, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gone through eighteen different versions and countless rewrites. I am SO VERY SORRY it took me so long, but for any of you who have been waiting patiently, THANK YOU FOR NOT GIVING UP ON ME. 
> 
> If you're wondering about... er, plot? I pretty much am not bothering with plot, since this is a story about kissing. But. Stevie wanted to get Loki out of SHIELD's holding because she honestly believed that a) he was no longer a threat, and b) being imprisoned and mistreated him would probably set him on a murderous rampage from which there would be no return.
> 
> This is NOT a Loki-apologetic, I'm aware that he is a bad man who has done bad things, and Stevie is aware as well. She is, however, of the opinion that Loki will not try to murder helpless humans without reason, and she's following her gut on this one. She is also willing to pay the price of her betrayal.
> 
> Fortunately, that won't be an issue. Loki's kind of gone for Stevie the way everybody else in the world is-- and he's sure as heck not going to let her be court martialed, fired, or have her reputation tarnished on his behalf. Especially not after he did all that work destroying HYDRA and researching Midgardian courting rituals for her.
> 
> Next Chapter will be up sometime after nanowrimo, in all honesty. Thanks for taking the time to read/encourage/leave comments and kudos, you guys are the reason I haven't given up on writing altogether in favour of crying in bed with my cats. <3


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